


a shadow passed, a shadow passed

by brahnuh



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, semi-graphic depictions of injuries, this is a sad thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 06:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2299082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brahnuh/pseuds/brahnuh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dimly he was aware that voices were frantically yelling at him from his comm system, but he ignored them, heart beating wildly as he closed in on where he could barely see a rounded red edge peeking through crumbled concrete and steel. His chest was tighter than it’d ever been and he started frantically throwing off debris, not caring which direction it went or who it might impact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a shadow passed, a shadow passed

**Author's Note:**

> alright hello! this is the first fic thing i've ever posted on a site like this SO don't judge me too harshly s: i was watching the 'left behind' scene from spring awakening and it made me sad so, of course, i immediately started listening to it on repeat and was inspired to write a sad thing. so. this is my sad thing. huge thanks to tori, who, even though she was asleep when i wrote it, as soon as she read it told me to 'post it immediately.'  
> aside from that though, this story (if you can call it that) has not been beta'd, only proofread by me (once), so any mistakes are mine!  
> please enjoy (and don't hate me because it's sad d; )  
> title from 'left behind' from the musical Spring Awakening ^v^  
> if you want to find me elsewhere, i'm also on [tumblr!](http://generalrogers.tumblr.com)

_Can't help the itch to touch, to kiss_  
 _To hold him once again_  
 _Now to close his eyes_  
 _Never open them_

_A shadow passed, a shadow passed_  
 _Yearning, yearning_  
 _For the fool it called a home_

_\- "[Left Behind", Spring Awakening](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DBX6Rvd831c)_

 

* * *

“ _STEVE!_ ”

The cliche thing to say would be that the shout echoed, but it didn’t. Bucky’s voice was drowned out by the chaos around him and swallowed up before they reached the man he shouted to, who had disappeared beneath an enormous pile of rubble and enemies. His shield was nowhere to be seen.

Bucky felt dizzy and started swaying on his feet just as another enemy came at him. He was knocked to the ground, his awareness barely focused on anything other than the fact that he had no idea whether or not Steve was still alive beneath the large amounts of debris. He forced himself to fight off the rest of the enemies around him, though, continuing the battle because he knew he needed to. He’d be in a lot of trouble if he didn’t, anyway.

As soon as the area surrounding him was clear, however, he vaulted over cars and sprinted toward where he’d last seen Steve. Dimly he was aware that voices were frantically yelling at him from his comm system, but he ignored them, heart beating wildly as he closed in on where he could barely see a rounded red edge peeking through crumbled concrete and steel. His chest was tighter than it’d ever been and he started frantically throwing off debris, not caring which direction it went or who it might impact. His sole focus was on Steve, whose body he still couldn’t find beneath the fallen building.

Steve couldn’t be dead. Bucky wouldn’t allow it. He knew battle was dangerous, but Steve was smart, he couldn’t die like this, no —

There were already tears stinging the backs of his eyes but he ignored them, pressing forward until he spotted a swatch of blue beneath the rubble. His searching became more intense and probably hysterical as he continued to dig and throw stone out behind him, until finally he saw Steve’s face, and —

Oh, god.

Steve’s face was a mess. It was covered in blood and bruised in varying colours and nearly unrecognisable. Bucky figured that most of his skull was probably broken and he’d be surprised if there was no brain damage.

The rest of his body wasn’t much better. His whole body was spattered with blood, his uniform soaked through in places. Blood dripped down the sides of his mouth, an indication of internal damage. His eyes were swollen shut and there was no noticeable rising and falling of his chest.

Bucky hadn’t realised he was shaking until he reached forward — whether to check for a pulse or grab Steve’s (probably broken) hand, he wasn’t sure — and saw that his hand shook violently. His vision blurred and tears fell down his cheeks without his being able to stop them as he touched Steve’s leg, his hand (limp), and finally he reached up to feel for a pulse in his neck. Bucky forced his hand to stop shaking as much as it was as he pressed his fingers to Steve’s blood-covered throat, and he waited, waited, but there was no flutter, no anything. He felt around a bit, frenzied, searching for a pulse and losing track of what he was doing until he felt warm blood trickle onto his fingers.

He yanked his hand back from Steve’s neck and grabbed Steve’s hand in both of his own, metal and flesh and blood, and felt a sob rip painfully through him. After that, the floodgates were open and he leaned forward, resting his head on Steve’s leg and crying into the fabric of charred and tattered and bloodied uniform.

“ _Bucky!_ ” voices continued to yell over his comm. “ _Bucky, report, now, what the fuck is going on —_ ”

He didn’t lift his head to answer them. “Steve’s gone,” he croaked to them in between bouts of soul-crushing sobs after a moment. “Down and out. Over.”

He remembered, later, that Stark had traced Bucky’s comm to his location and sent it to the others, that people were shouting behind him, and that it wasn’t long before he was no longer alone.

Muffled sobs came from over his shoulder and he knew that if he looked he’d see his — well, Steve’s, mostly — teammates looking stone-faced and grief-stricken, but he couldn’t handle it at this moment. Instead he continued to weep, his entire being in a searing pain that reached down into his soul. He wished he could say he was numb at first, but he wasn’t. It hurt more than anything he’d ever experienced in his life, and he’d had to deal with learning that he had been the murderer of a whole hell of a lot of innocent people.

But this was a different kind of pain. This was a pain that hurt deep into the very essence of his being, because he’d always revolved around Steve. Steve was his focal point. He’d lived a good life that way, back when Steve was just a little guy, and his main worry was whether or not he’d be able to keep Steve alive in the face of all his ailments or probable sicknesses.

But now. Now, Steve was pumped up with super serum, no longer at risk of dying of pneumonia or tuberculosis or asthma in the Brooklyn winter — but he still lay dead right before Bucky’s eyes. He had sworn he would always protect Steve, and now, after everything they’d been through, Steve was dead. He’s dead and Bucky could have saved him if he’d just looked over one more time, been able to warn Steve to get the fuck out of the way.

It wasn’t even as much a valiant death as Steve deserved. Bucky supposed Steve kind of went out in a blaze of glory, but he wasn’t rescuing people from a burning building or saving a school bus full of children. He was fighting one strong enemy that wasn’t even really targeting many other people, and the enemy had shot some kind of large, explosive ammunition into the building they were next to, and it had collapsed faster than anyone could have ever anticipated — and right on top of Steve.

Bucky tried to be glad that it hadn’t been something stupid like illness or some asshole in a back alley, but he couldn’t even bring himself to consider the emotion of happiness at this time, and especially not in relation to Steve’s death.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, but when he’d stopped crying and just sat on his knees, legs now numb, trembling and trying not to think about the pain he was in or the world around him, a hand came down on his shoulder and rubbed for a moment before squeezing and staying there.

“We have to go, Bucky,” the man said, and after a beat Bucky lifted his head to look up at him. Sam’s eyes were red-rimmed and swollen and he had a slice across his left cheekbone. His voice was hoarse. “We’ll get someone to take him back to the tower.” Bucky made no move to get up. “Come on, man. You need to get your injuries checked out and clean yourself up.”

“No!” Bucky finally found it in himself to move again and he splayed himself protectively over Steve’s beaten body.

“Bucky.” Sam’s voice was gentle. “He wouldn’t want you to kill yourself too. Come on.”

“I’m not leaving him,” Bucky snarled, squeezing Steve’s thigh with his metal hand. He didn’t even know if he was injured. He couldn’t feel anything but the pain over Steve. “I’ll take him back to the tower.”

Sam sighed and made a few calls, knowing he wouldn’t be able to sway Bucky on this, and soon enough Bucky was riding in a vehicle he had no recollection of getting into next to Steve’s body, absently stroking the dead man’s blood-matted blond hair.

It took tranquilizer darts to get him into his bed that night, because everything in his room reminded him of Steve — after all, it was the room they’d shared. The pillows and sheets smelled of him. The bar of soap Steve liked sat half-used in the shower, his shampoo bottle sitting almost empty, and he lost it, shaking again and trying to run away and sobbing once more, his chest constricted and painful.

Bucky couldn’t handle it in the morning either and nearly had to be sedated again before he simply sat out on their couch staring at nothing and into nothing in silence, because Steve was dead and he was still alive and the universe must really hate him.

 

 

 


End file.
